The Best Portion

Title: The Best Portion (4/6)
Author: Aglarien
Type: FPS
Characters: Elladan/Legolas
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine. The great Master Tolkien's estate owns everything else. I promise to return his elves when I'm done playing with them.
Warnings: AU.
Beta: Jay of Lasgalen. All remaining mistakes are mine alone.
Summary: Written for the Ardor in August fic exchange. Elladan and Legolas finally sail and find joy in Valinor.
Request: Pairing: Elladan/Legolas. Plot: Resolved angst, established relationship in Valinor. Happy ending, please.

That best portion of a good man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love. ~William Wordsworth (1770-1850)


Chapter 4


Legolas joined Gimli on deck and took his place at the helm, looking out to the sea. “I have long yearned for this, my friend,” he said. Dusk was falling and stars were just beginning to appear in the darkening sky.

Gimli nodded. He picked up the stout tree branch he had brought on board, and sat down on top of a water barrel that stood near Legolas. After pulling out a knife from his pocket, he began to carefully remove the bark from the branch.

It was four days since they had set sail, and the two friends took turns manning the helm and preparing their food, while Elladan spent most of the time sleeping under the influence of potent healing herbs. Each time he awoke the pain never seemed to be lessened. He would groggily eat and drink whatever was presented to him, and then fall back into a deep sleep. Legolas and Gimli had agreed that they would give Elladan the herbs that made him sleep only one more day – any more, and the half-Elf would begin to weaken from his enforced inactivity. Lessening the dose would hopefully mean that Elladan would be able to walk around the deck a few times a day for exercise, and Legolas would begin to massage his legs and arms to stimulate the muscles.

“I worry about him, Gimli,” Legolas said. “He is not healing as he should.”

“He is healing,” the Dwarf answered. “The hurt he took was great, and I suspect that some of the ribs he claims are only cracked are in fact broken. He forced himself to stand the pain while he was away, pushing it from his mind. Once he was home and safe with you again he could give in to the pain and finally begin to heal.”

“Have you had broken ribs before, Gimli?” Legolas asked.

The Dwarf nodded. “Once as bad as Elladan’s. Took me near three months to heal completely. Very painful, it was.”

“But Elladan is an Elf. He should be healing more quickly.”

Gimli sighed. “He is healing, Legolas. Elves do not heal that much quicker than Men and Dwarves – or Hobbits, for that matter, unless someone like Lord Elrond is able to speed the healing. If it took me three months to heal, do you expect him to heal in three days? Give it time, Laddie.” The Dwarf’s knife continued to whittle away at the bark of the branch he held.

“I will try to have patience,” Legolas said after considering his friend’s words. “It is just that it hurts me to have him in pain, and I don’t mean just because I can feel a part of it.”

Gimli simply nodded again and said nothing, continuing to strip the branch’s bark.

“What is it that you make?” Legolas finally asked.

“A walking stick for that husband of yours,” Gimli replied. “It will be better for him to get out of bed and move around on his own. The stick will help bear his weight and make it easier for him.”

“Thank you, Gimli,” Legolas said softly. “I do know how I would have managed without you and your good sense these past days. I fear where Elladan is concerned, my head is ruled by my heart.”

Gimli nodded and continued his whittling, beginning to shape the staff, cutting away the excess wood from its length while leaving a large block of wood at the top to be carved into the handhold. The hand that held the knife was skilled, and chips of wood flew and littered the deck around him. Each stroke was as fast as the wind, the knife wielded by one whose masterly of wood was second only to his mastery of stone.

“What will you carve on the top?” Legolas asked, curiously, knowing his friend would not make anything half-measure and took pride in his workmanship.

“I have not decided,” Gimli answered. “I thought of carving your likeness, but then Elladan would be caught between looking at the staff or looking at you,” he teased. “Perhaps my likeness?”

Legolas snickered. “Perhaps a tree?” he suggested.

“Aye, that would do – if I was carving it for you,” Gimli said with a grin. “I will think of something.”

The walking stick was finished by the time Elladan rose from his bed in two days time. Gimli had shaved it smooth; made a varnish from flax seed oil, oil of turpentine, and resin he had brought on board for that purpose; and hung it to dry on the deck by a leather thong through a small hole just at the base of its elaborately carved top. The handhold was a perfect, miniature replica of the Last Homely House, the memory still as fresh in Gimli’s mind as the day he first arrived in Rivendell. It was a thing of beauty and a joy to hold, and Elladan thanked Gimli for his thoughtfulness at least five times a day.

Elladan had grown somewhat weak during his enforced sleep and complained regularly to Legolas and Gimli for keeping him drugged for so long. This was taken as a good sign by the two friends, as it was accompanied by regular walks around the deck with the support of Gimli’s stick. What started on the first day as one walk that left the half-Elf with aching legs and gasping for breath, grew to longer periods of activity. It could not be said that he minded the long massages to his feet, calves and thighs that Legolas delivered each day either. Only Elladan’s condition and the considerable pain he was still experiencing kept the two Elves from ripping their clothing to shreds and setting upon each other lustily, and confined their intimacy to gentle embraces and fervent kisses.

They were more than two weeks out to sea, and while Legolas was preparing a meal in the galley, Elladan walked out on the deck to keep Gimli company at the helm. The Dwarf appeared deep in thought, his gaze fixed on the stars. After watching him for a few moments, Elladan spoke softly. “What is it that you are pondering so, friend Gimli?” He sat on the barrel they kept next to the helm for just such a purpose.

Gimli sighed. “Do you think I will be welcome there?” he asked.

Elladan nodded. “I am sure of it, my friend. There are many there who will speak for you, my father and grandmother not the least.”

“Do you remember how on the Paths of the Dead you rode at the end of our column, carrying the torch? I feared to lose sight of you and that torch. Never was I more afraid. My knees trembled – me, who never had fear in battle. I was afraid to go on, but the fear of being left behind was greater. This fear – I feel like I did that day.”

“Have no fear, Gimli. They will let you stay. I am sure of it.”

“From your lips to Aulë’s ears,” Gimli replied solemnly.

It was a rainy night in the third week of their voyage when they heard the sound of singing coming over the water, and they gathered together on the deck. A sweet fragrance was in the air and, as if in a dream, the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver-glass and was rolled back, and before them they beheld white shores, and beyond a far green country under a swift sunrise. (1)

On the shore stood Elrond with Celebrían, Celeborn and Galadriel, Thranduil, Elrohir, Glorfindel and Erestor, Gandalf, and many other Elves and Maiar, known and unknown. And standing in the front were Frodo, Samwise and Bilbo, each looking as they had last been seen on Arda, but hardier. Sam and Bilbo even seemed to have grown younger during their time in the Blessed Realm. The air was filled with music and fair voices raised in song.

“There is the answer to your question, my friend,” Legolas said softly, smiling. “The Hobbits live.”

Gimli was speechless, his eyes filled with fear and wonder, and then he beheld the Lady of Lórien smiling at him.

The grey ship slid up to the small dock. Waiting Elves caught the coils of rope thrown down by Legolas and secured the vessel in place. The gangplank was lowered. A commanding figure with long, dark hair and dressed all in white stepped out of the crowd and spoke loudly. “Gimli, son of Glóin and Elf-friend, you have been commanded to appear before Aulë and will come with me.”

The Dwarf trembled, standing between Legolas and Elladan.

“Do not be afraid, Gimli,” Legolas whispered. “They are letting you go ashore – it is a good sign.”

“Grandmother will not let anything happen to you, Gimli,” Elladan added softly.

Gimli groaned and took a deep breath, trying to calm his shaking.

The messenger of Aulë, seeing the state of the Dwarf, smiled and his face softened. “Do not be afraid, Gimli. You are welcome here. I am Lirillo, Herald of Aulë. My Lord desires only to speak with you, as it has been many ages since he has conversed with a Dwarf.

Three audible sighs of relief were heard from the deck, and Legolas whispered, “Go with him. All will be well now.”

“But what do I do in the presence of Aulë?” Gimli whispered, as he started walking off the deck. “I’ll be too scared to say anything!”

Elladan chuckled, and with one hand at Legolas’ waist and the other holding the walking stick, he led his mate off of the ship and into the arms of their family and friends.

The reunions were joyous, full of warm embraces, tears, and hastily spoken warnings from Legolas for no one to hold Elladan too tightly.

“Elladan?” Elrond said, his arms lightly around his son and Celebrían. “Where are you hurt?”

“’Tis only my ribs, Ada, and they are healing.”

“Leave it to you to get injured when all you had to do was go to Ithilien and join Legolas,” Elrohir said. “How did you manage to get hurt?”

“Well, you see, there was this village and wargs and…”

“When we get you home, I will see to your injuries and you can tell us about it,” Elrond interrupted. “Erestor will see to the unloading of your ship tomorrow and have whatever you have brought taken to the house. Are you in much pain?”

“It is much better than it was, Ada, and quite bearable. Just a twinge now and again,” Elladan answered.

“Do not believe him, Adar,” Legolas said, joining the group with Thranduil in tow. “He needs the walking stick even to rise from sitting in a chair. He tries to hide his pain, but he cannot deceive me. He still has great pain.”

Elladan suppressed a sigh and held his tongue – there was altogether too much talking going on to get a word in edgewise anyway, what with the Hobbits swarming around Legolas, and Celeborn and Galadriel adding to the crush around them, not to mention Glorfindel, Erestor, Melpomaen, Lindir, and a few dozen other Imladris Elves.

“Legolas, you and Elladan will come and live with me at your grandparents’ home while our houses are being built,” Thranduil said. “Elrond can see to his injuries there.”

“Thranduil, if my son is injured, it would be better to have him under my roof,” Elrond said patiently.

“I want to be close to my son, Elrond,” Thranduil insisted.

Elrond shrugged. “Then come and stay with us. The house is too large and too empty anyway.”

Thranduil raised his eyebrows at the offer, but said, “I accept, and you have my thanks.”

Elrond’s home was an exact replica of the Last Homely House, down to the Hall of Fire, the library, his hidden wine cellar, and Celebrían’s gardens. Although it was built in a valley by a river it was without waterfalls, but the addition of numerous fountains throughout the gardens added the calming sound of running water. Its building had kept them occupied for many years. After over four thousand years in their hidden valley, the Elves from Imladris who chose to live there found it comforting and familiar. Glorfindel and Erestor occupied their suite, located in the same place as of old, as did most of the others who had crossed the sea with Elrond. The Hobbits were even housed in the same guest rooms they had occupied in Imladris.

Scribes still labored in the library, copying volumes of lore, and Elrond and Erestor still worked in their offices during the day. Life was much like it was before, but without the constant threat of war and the ever-encroaching threat of evil. Various hurts and injuries still required Elrond’s attention in the healing wing. Elves still came to him and Erestor for counsel, and Glorfindel still trained his guards. There were crops to grow and harvest, farm animals to raise, horses to tend, metal to be worked, stone to be carved, thread to be spun, cloth to be woven and sewn, and all of the other various and sundry necessities of life. Trade thrived in a lively marketplace. The Elves of Valinor maintained their readiness for battle at the command of the Valar, for not only had evil come to the Undying Lands in ages past, but they had once before been summoned to the defense Middle-earth. Not even the Valar knew what the future would bring. All of which Elladan and Legolas were as yet unaware of.

“What of Gimli, Adar?” Legolas asked.

“He is welcome too, of course,” Elrond said, starting to herd everyone away from the shore to begin the walk to where the horses and a carriage stood waiting to carry them home. “There is really no need to build separate homes, Thranduil, unless you wish it. Stay with us a while, and then you, Legolas and Elladan can decide what you wish to do. It is my hope that you will all decide to live with us.”

The journey to the new Last Homely House was not long, and when Elladan alighted from the carriage with Legolas and his mother, he exclaimed, “It is home! Legolas, it is home!”

“Yes, my son,” Celebrían chuckled. “You are home. Your father tells me that you and Legolas took a different suite of rooms after your marriage than the ones I knew. Those rooms have been readied for you.”

“I think that answers where we will be living,” Legolas said quietly, smiling. He really didn’t care where he lived, as long as it was with Elladan and reasonably close to his father. “I do hope our fathers will get along well.”

Elladan nodded, and they walked to the Elves lining the front of the house, waiting to greet them and welcome them home. “I am sure they will, my love. I am sure they will.”

(1) Taken nearly verbatim from ROTK.

Lirillo: a Maiar in the service of Aulë